


License to Ride

by Gin_Juice



Series: picture book [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gin_Juice/pseuds/Gin_Juice
Summary: "Put on your seatbelt.”“I respectfully decline.”“I mean it. Put your belt on.”“One time, I met this guy, and he died by getting strangled with his seatbelt. Also, the shoulder strap chafes my nipple. You don’t want me to die or have a chafed nipple, do you, Diego?”---------------------------------------Klaus might not know how to drive, but he thinks he makes Diego a pretty good co-pilot anyway.





	License to Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, but you don't have to read previous installments to follow along. Basically, the Apocalypse has been averted, and the kids are working on getting closer. Luther, Five, Klaus, and ghost Ben live at the Academy, and the rest still have their own places. Vanya is slower than the rest to buddy up with everyone, but she's getting there. Klaus is sober and is working on controlling his powers.

Klaus had one foot out the front door when a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

He yelped in alarm and spun around on his heel.

“Jesus, Diego! Give a bitch some warning! I’m wearing my favorite underoos and everything!”

Diego regarded him with a flat look. “Where are you going?” he reiterated.

“To get cigarettes. I thought I had enough until tomorrow, but—“ he did jazz hands—“I just inhale the damn things!”

Klaus started snickering at his own joke—how did he come up with this stuff, seriously?—but Diego just shook his head in annoyance.

“It’s almost eleven thirty at night.”

“Yes. I, too, can tell time.”

“It’s June, and you’re wearing snowboots.”

“Well, you know what they say about being prepared.”

Diego’s eyes narrowed, suspicion writ all over his face. After a moment, he jerked his head at the door. “You need cigarettes? I’ll drive you to the store and back.”

It sounded more like a challenge than a gesture of goodwill. Klaus knew exactly what he was thinking, and, frankly, it was insulting. How was he supposed to prove himself trustworthy if nobody was willing to extend their trust?

He should stick up for himself. Make a big impassioned speech, even.

“Shotgun!”

…At the end of the day, though, a ride was a ride. And did he _really_ feel like walking all the way to the nearest open store in snowboots?

Ugh, he needed to figure out where the rest of his shoes had gotten to ASAP.

The drive was quick, and Diego seemed determined to make it as unenjoyable as possible.

Klaus’ first order of business was to attempt to switch on the radio, but no sooner had he _touched that dial!_ than Diego was slapping his hand away.

“Don’t touch stuff in my car,” he ordered as he pulled out of the driveway.

“I’ll let you pick the station,” Klaus offered generously, reaching for it again.

Diego seized his wrist without ever taking his eyes off the road. “Don’t _touch it_.”

Klaus managed to twist his hand around so that their palms were facing, and twined their fingers together.

“You know, I think bench seats should make a comeback,” he exclaimed happily when Diego snatched his arm away like it had been burned. “Just think how much snuggle time you could get in on long car rides!”

“And you can both get impaled on the steering column when you get into a wreck,” Diego muttered.

Klaus pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon in his seat. “The romance!”

They came to a red light, and Diego darted a look at him. “By the way—put on your seatbelt.”

Klaus hummed in dismissal. “I respectfully decline.”

He rested his head against the window and watched the passing scenery. Whenever he’d driven around like this with Dave—which had been often, because Dave loved driving and jumped at any chance to get behind the wheel—Klaus had donned a British accent and pretended he was narrating a wildlife documentary.

He toyed with the idea of doing that now, but he doubted Diego would find it as funny as Dave always had.

“I mean it,” Diego said, leaning forward a little to see around a badly-parked car as they made their turn. “Put your belt on.”

Klaus reclined in his seat and propped one foot up on the dashboard. “One time, I met this guy, and he died by getting strangled with his seatbelt. Also, the shoulder strap chafes my nipple.” He threw Diego a look of hurt. “You don’t want me to die or have a chafed nipple, do you, Diego?”

Diego grunted, sounding distinctly peeved. He glanced at the rear view mirror. “Ben,” he said, “Ben, tell him to put on his seatbelt.”

“Ah-ah!” Klaus shook a finger at him. “Nice try, but he’s not here.”

“How convenient,” Diego said drily. He looked again at the mirror. “Ben, tell him.”

Klaus watched him in annoyance. He’d been accused of lying about Ben being there for how many years? And now apparently he was lying about Ben not being there.

This injustice could not stand.

“He’s really not here,” he insisted as Diego navigated a tight turn down a side street. “But you know what might get his attention? A sing-along!”

He lunged forward and turned on the car stereo.

_‘Do you believe in life after love?’_ asked Cher.

“Turn that off!”

“Noo, I love this song!”

He slapped at Diego’s right hand with both of his before delivering a sharp elbow to the meat of his upper arm.

_‘I can feel something inside me say, I really don’t think you’re strong enough.’_

“You _like_ this crap?”

“It isn’t crap!” Klaus protested as he heaved his shoulder into Diego’s. “Cher is a national treas—Wait.”

He squinted down at the stereo display.

“Why does it say ‘Audio Cassette?’”

Diego slammed on the brakes. With one hand, he shoved a squawking Klaus against the door, and with the other, he hit the eject button. He threw the tape into the backseat.

He turned and fixed Klaus with a glare. “Someone must have left it in here.”

Well, that was just adorable. Klaus unsmooshed his face from the window and winked at him.

When they pulled up outside the convenience store, Diego waved Klaus inside without making any move to get out of the car himself. He’d been expecting an escort to prevent him from climbing out a back window or something, but it seemed his brother needed a moment.

Or maybe he had a little faith in him?

“Be right back!”

Klaus did a quick walk-through of the aisles to pick out snacks. Two individually-wrapped brownies, Pirate’s Booty (ha!), a microwaveable breakfast sandwich for Luther to have in the morning, and a packet of sunflower seeds.

His brother watched him closely as he got settled back into the car, but he didn’t demand to check his pupils, at least.

“I got you these,” Klaus told him as pulled the sunflower seeds from his bag, “but you can have Five’s brownie if you want. _He_ never takes me anywhere nice.”

Diego was eyeing the pack of smokes Klaus was unwrapping.

“You got your cigarettes.”

“Mmhm. That was the object of the exercise.”

“Right.” He turned away, and his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I, uh… I should have believed you.”

Klaus looked up in surprise, but Diego was staring ahead with great determination.

“You’ve been doing really good,” he said gruffly. He hazarded a quick glance at him. “And it’s… good. For you.”

“…Thanks.”

This was why all the rehab counselors pushed ‘support systems’ so hard, Klaus realized. They’d probably been hoping for people who were a little more expressive, but this was nice, too.

He smiled. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Diego smiled back, just for a second.

“Is this a bad time to mention I stole a pack of gum?”

Diego sighed and turned on the ignition.

{}{}{}{}{}

“Thanks for picking me up, guys,” Allison said as she climbed into the back of the car.

She was wearing a pink and yellow sundress with a matching holographic clutch. If she didn’t already know that Klaus was going to steal her whole outfit the moment she changed out of it, she needed to go back to school.

“Tres chic, Allison,” he said approvingly, twisting around in the front seat. “You’re sitting in Ben, by the way.”

He looked on in pleasure as she began floundering around, spouting off apologies.

“Tell her to just pick a spot,” Ben pleaded as she drove a knee through his stomach. “I can sit anywhere.”

“Ben says to stop kicking him. You can’t hurt his body, but you can still hurt his feelings.”

“Klaus!”

Once a frazzled Allison was buckled in, Diego began the slow, frustrating process of leaving the airport.

“How was your flight?” he asked, then braked hard to avoid hitting an older couple who were wandering dazed and oblivious around the parking garage.

“Oh, terrible,” she said with a laugh. “I had to fly business class because everything else was booked, and the guy next to me kept pitching his idea for a sci-fi movie. It was basically _Terminator_ with tighter clothing. And a talking dog, for some reason.”

“I’d watch the shit out of that,” said Klaus.

“Well, you _are_ the family tastemaker,” she said fondly. “Anyway, what’s new here?”

Allison never talked much about her life in L.A.  Sometimes she’d share a little story about Claire, but if anyone pushed for more details, her smile would turn brittle and she would steer the conversation to other topics.

Everybody was satisfied with that arrangement. They all excelled at not discussing important things.

 “Same old, same old.” Diego swerved around a Jeep that was backing up like the driver had never heard of rear-view mirrors. “Doing the police’s job for them. No pay, no benefits, just results.”

Ben snorted.

“I broke two toasters since the last time you visited,” Klaus informed her.

“Yeah? Good for you.”

“Thanks! Anything’s possible if you put your mind to it.”

“Tell her about Five,” urged Ben.

“Oh, yeah!” Klaus turned around in his seat, because he really wanted to see Allison’s face for this. “Itty bitty Number Five is getting his GED.”

Oh, man, that _look_! Priceless.

“He failed the social studies section of the first practice test he took,” Diego said smugly.

“He aced the math part, though,” said Ben, throwing Diego a look of disappointment.

“He—How?” asked Allison, seemingly torn between laughter and absolute bafflement. “Isn’t that mostly history?”

“Yep,” said Klaus, popping the ‘P’ for emphasis.

“Turns out there are too many timelines to keep track of the details in all of them,” Diego explained.

“Oh,” she said. The sympathy in her voice was real, but so was the amusement. “Oh, poor Five! Was he upset?”

“Yes,” said Diego.

“Extremely,” added Klaus.

“Luther suggested he go to some of the GED classes at the public library—“

“—and _I_ suggested he watch some episodes of Schoolhouse Rock—“

“—then he threw the practice book across the r-room—“

“—he nailed Ben right in the head with it—“

Diego pursed his lips and gave Klaus a dirty look. “Am I telling this story, or are you?”

“I thought we both were.”

They were at the exit tolls now, stuck behind someone in a minivan who appeared to be paying their parking fee in loose change.

Klaus twirled a hand through the air. “It’s a duet.”

“I think it’s cute,” offered Allison. She leaned forward to tickle at the back of Klaus’s neck. “You guys are like a buddy cop movie or something.”

“Ha! Stabby and Hutch!” Ben hooted.

Klaus gasped in delight and shot him finger guns with both barrels.

“We’re not buddies,” Diego grumbled.

…Okay, well _that_ stung.

“Right.” Klaus flashed him a tentative smile. “We’re brothers.”

“Adopted brothers.”

…And _that_ stung even more.

As Diego inched the car forward to pay the parking attendant, Klaus reached out and slapped on the stereo.

“— _is the time, is the place, is the motion, GREASE IS THE WAY WE ARE FEELING_ —“

Diego lurched forward to turn it off, and for a second, the only sound in the car was the squeak of the cassette as the reels came to a stop.

Allison burst out laughing. “Oh my _God_ , is that a _tape_?” she asked. “ _Please_ tell me you guys were listening to show tunes on your way over here.”

Diego scowled at Klaus. Klaus scowled back.

“Don’t fight, you guys,” Ben implored weakly.

The ride home was spent in stilted silence. Allison tried to goad Diego into singing ‘Beauty School Dropout’ for a little while, but once she picked up on the tensions in the front seat, she went quiet and settled down to stare out the window.

Ben leaned forward now and then with increasingly desperate (and fucking stupid) advice—“Just tell him he hurt your feelings, dude! He didn’t mean to, Diego’s nice!”—but eventually, he, too, gave up.

At the house, Diego had to come to a complete stop for a moment to let the garage door open for him, and Allison took advantage of it by bounding out of the car.

Klaus felt a little abandoned, but he guessed he couldn’t blame her. Being the family referee was a thankless job, and it probably wasn’t fair to expect her to jump right into the thick of it immediately after flying across the country.

Let her take a nap and _then_ start settling everyone else’s arguments.

There was a faint ‘thunk’ as Diego leaned down to pull the trunk latch so she could get her suitcase. He twisted around to look at Klaus, keeping one foot on the brake.

“Stop being weird,” he ordered.

“ _I’m_ not being weird,” Klaus muttered, slumped in his seat. “ _You’re_ being weird.”

“You _are_. You’re being weird.”

“No, _you_.”

“I’m not—!” Diego slapped at the steering wheel in frustration, his jaw working furiously.

Klaus watched him from the corner of his eye. What would he do next, call him an idiot? Tell him he was too sensitive? Accuse him of being a junkie moron who read things all wrong?

_Yawn._

“I stutter more when people interrupt me,” he bit out.

Klaus sat up. “Oh,” he said in genuine dismay. “I… didn’t know that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” snapped Diego. He sliced a hand through the air. “Just. Stop cutting me off, alright? That shit makes me nuts.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

Klaus studied him. He kind of wanted to say some mushy stuff, like _‘Don’t be embarrassed’_ or _‘None of us ever thought less of you for stuttering anyway’_ but he also kind of wanted to not get punched.

“Ben called us Stabby and Hutch.”

Diego groaned and eased his foot off the brake.

“He’s spent too much time with you,” he complained as the car rolled slowly into the garage. “You ruined Ben.”

“Nooo, I made him better! He’s so funny now!”

“That is the worst joke I ever heard.”

“Oh, _that’s_ the worst joke you ever heard? You are _sheltered_. Here, listen to this: Knock knock.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, say ‘who’s there?’ Knock knock.”

“Jesus _Christ_.”

{}{}{}{}{}

A party—even a drug and alcohol free one, which would only be attended by seven people—should have been right up Klaus’s alley, and he could tell his siblings were a bit thrown off by his ambivalence towards their plans for a 4th of July barbeque.

He wasn’t against it. It was just that he didn’t see how _this_ 4th of July could measure up to his last one, which he’d spent in Vietnam, and which had been sort of magical.

This guy Petrinsky in their squad, who’d been a real pyro, had made DIY firecrackers out of bullets and matches. Their CO had looked the other way while somebody set up the camp’s PA system to play the radio. Dave had spent weeks stockpiling the pound cake from his C-rations, and that afternoon he had doused the whole stash with cheap rum he’d bought off one of the medics—a holiday favorite he’d adapted from his mother’s recipe, he’d said.

Towards the end of the night, he and Klaus had slipped off from the smoky, drunken chaos of camp for their own celebration. Dave had tasted like boozy cake and cigarettes and home, and when he tipped Klaus’s head back to whisper “I love you” against his mouth, he’d sounded as though he really meant it.

Watching Luther swallow entire hotdogs was not going to compare.

A car honked outside.

“I’m coming!” he yelled. Crap, where was his other sneaker? Or his other sandal? Or his other anything?

They were heading out to buy a grill and a patio set for the upcoming barbeque, and he’d insisted on going along just to get out of the house for a bit. But why did they have to start running errands so _early?_

The horn honked again, sustained and irate.

His gaze fell on the snowboots next to his bedroom door.

His brothers were already in the van, and he was a bit put out to see that Luther had claimed the front passenger seat.

“You’re cheating on me,” he accused Diego as he climbed into the back with Five.

Ben appeared out of nowhere between them. “Isn’t this Luther’s car?” he asked.

“Ben wants to know why you’re driving, anyway. We thought Luther owned this thing now.”

“I do,” Luther said tersely. “I let him borrow it for a stake-out last night and now he won’t give me back the keys.”

“Possession is nine tenths of the law,” Diego told him in a serene tone as they pulled off.

After a few blocks, Five leaned forward. “The speed limit here is twenty-five,” he informed Diego.

“I’m driving the limit.”

“You’re driving _under_ the limit.”

“It’s not a race.”

“Good, because we would be losing.”

They stopped at a red light and Diego twisted around to tell Five off, but he was interrupted by Luther.

“Why is your blinker on?” he asked, craning his neck to see the flashing arrow.

“Because I’m making a turn? What do _you_ use blinkers for, Luther?”

“Why are you turning here, though?” He frowned and gestured up ahead. “You go another six blocks and then turn.”

“I’m going a different—“ Diego stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Alright, listen up.”

He pointed from Luther to Five, giving each of them a look of warning. “There will be NO backseat driving,” he told them sternly. “I am the party in control of this vehicle—“

Five settled his head back against the seat with a sigh. “Talking like you’re dictating an accident report doesn’t make you a better driver, you know.”

“Yeah,” agreed Luther. “Just say that you’re—“

“THERE WILL BE NO BACKSEAT DRIVING—“

“We’ve been sitting at the green light for like, ten full seconds,” Ben pointed out.

Before Klaus could alert his siblings to this fact, the car behind them laid on the horn.

As Diego peeled away with a screech of the tires, Klaus turned his attention to the window.

It seemed like every other house had put up their most patriotic decorations for the impending holiday, and the world passed by in a blur of red, white and blue as the van whizzed through the streets. The sounds of the city transformed into gunfire and shouting in his mind, and when Klaus closed his eyes, he saw mud and blood and Dave’s slack face.

He opened his eyes again. “Can we turn on the radio?”

“No,” said Diego, but Luther was already hitting the button.

‘— _a man after midnight, won’t somebody help me take the shadows away?_ ’

“Ooh, ABBA,” Luther said appreciatively.

Diego reached over to switch it off, but he swatted his hand away. “Hey, no, this is a good song.”

“It really isn’t,” said Five. “Put on NPR.”

“Yeah, Luther,” Diego agreed, a little too eagerly. “What kind of adult man listens to ABBA? Find another tape.”

“I don’t have any tapes in the car,” said Luther. “I’ll change the station right after…”

He peered down at the stereo in confusion. “Wait, I guess this _is_ a tape. That’s weird.”

Diego tried to turn it off again, and Luther brushed him away absent-mindedly.

“Where’d it come from?”

Five was smirking at the back of Diego’s head. “Excellent question.”

Luther seemed to take the mysterious appearance of ABBA’s Greatest Hits as a stroke of good luck, and insisted on listening to the whole thing. Diego made a few more half-hearted complaints about how lame they were before dropping the matter.

All was peaceful for an entire eight minutes—a new family record!—until Five started gagging and pressed himself up against the door.

“Ugh, _Klaus_! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot, but what did I do?” Klaus asked in confusion.

Then the smell hit him, and he recoiled as well. “Oh, that is _foul_.”

Luther made a noise of disgust in the front seat and pinched his nose, while Diego fanned his hand in front of his face.

“Tell them to roll down the windows,” Ben pleaded. Judging by the look on his face, they were all very fortunate that ghosts didn’t puke.

Klaus scratched pitifully at the glass. “They don’t open! It’s a van! _We’re trapped in a metal stink box!_ ”

“The front windows, you idiot!”

Luther was already pressing the button, but nothing was happening.

“Is the child lock on?” he asked Diego with a touch of urgency.

“I don’t know,” he said as he snorted out a laugh. “This isn’t my car.”

Five, who had pulled up his shirt to cover his nose, kicked at the back of his seat in fury. “You’re disgusting!”

Diego laughed harder. “He who smelt it dealt, right?”

“We all smell it, and you eat raw eggs for breakfast.” Luther mashed at the button again in vain. “Roll down your window!”

“It _reeks,_ ” Klaus marveled to no in particular. He glanced around the car in concern. “Is one of us dying?”

“I might be, if we don’t get some fresh air in here,” Five grumbled into his shirt.

While they were talking, Diego had broken down into full hysterics.

He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, and busted out laughing anew. In the rear view mirror, Klaus could see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

A smile pulled at his own lips. All the years he’d spent clowning around. All his clever wordplay and timely observations and bone-bruising slapstick—and _this_ was what Diego found funny?

He had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old.

It was glorious.

“Grow up,” said Five, his voice dripping with disdain.

His words had the opposite of their desired effect. When Diego tried to respond around his gasps for air, all that came out was a strained “ _yee!_ ” sound.

Klaus lost it.

“You’re so gross!” he wheezed in delight. “It _was_ you, it was!”

Diego made a helpless gesture with one hand, his face flushed and tear-stained. “M’sorry!” he choked out, sounding distinctly unremorseful.

“Oh, _Diego_ ,” Ben sighed.

It was the nastiest, stupidest thing, and Klaus could not stop laughing. Each time one of them would start to quiet down, the other would snort, and the cycle would begin again.

Dave was still dead and Klaus was still tired and Five was glaring at Diego like he was contemplating homicide—but the morning seemed just a little bit brighter.

Luther was watching Diego with a sulky expression, looking as though he felt betrayed.

“I am never letting you borrow my van again,” he said solemnly.

Diego laughed so hard he choked on his own spit.

{}{}{}{}{}

“Thanks for picking me up, guys,” Vanya said as she climbed into the back of the car.

She unslung her violin case from around her shoulder and set it down next to her. It looked kind of cool on her, Klaus thought, like carrying around a guitar, except more cultured and European.

“Looking good, Vanya,” he said approvingly, twisting around in the front seat. “You’re sitting in Ben, by the way.”

“Am I?” She glanced at the spot next to her. “Should one of us move over?”

“He—You know what, actually, you’re okay.” Klaus frowned. “That usually gets a bigger reaction.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Ben blew a raspberry at him.

“Practice good?” Diego asked as he pulled away from the curb.

Klaus beamed at him in open adoration. He started talking like a legit caveman when confronted with something that made him uncomfortable. Straight guys were hilarious.

“Yeah, it was alright,” said Vanya. She tilted her head at the window. “Just, you know. Rain.”

Water was bad for musical instruments, _evidently_ , and they’d all been surprised when she had called the house to ask for a ride back to her apartment after rehearsal. Luther had been getting ready to pick her up in the van, but once Klaus alerted Diego to the situation, they’d had the keys in the ignition before Number One could step foot outside.

Luther and Vanya had their own stuff going on, but Diego _needed_ this.

They came to a red light, and a Honda that had seen better days pulled into the turning lane next to them.

It honked. It was impossible to make out the driver through the dark and the rain, but it was a male voice that called, “See you next week, Vanya!” through the open window.

“Oh, yeah!” she said, in a voice that was definitely too soft to be heard by anyone outside. “You too!”

She waved awkwardly as the Honda turned and disappeared into the night.

Diego squinted after it suspiciously. “Who was that?”

“Freddie. He’s second viola.”

Diego glanced at her in his rear view mirror as the light changed. “Thought your practice ended at eight,” he said. “Why’s he still hanging around?”

Vanya shrugged and turned her head to look out the window. “He wanted to make sure someone came to get me. He offered to give me a ride himself, but I’d already called the house, so.”

“Oh, boy,” muttered Ben. “Here we go.”

“He give you rides before?” Diego asked in a deceptively calm tone.

“Sometimes.”

Klaus rubbed at his forehead. Wrong answer, Vanya.

“And that seems like a good idea to you?” Diego sniffed and thumbed at his nose. “You just get in a car with a random guy?”

Vanya’s mouth opened a little in surprise. “Well… We’ve been in the same orchestra for six years? I mean, I know him.”

“In a big group, you know him,” Diego told her grimly. “Sometimes you get a man and woman alone together, and he turns into a whole different person.”

Vanya’s eyes widened in horror.

Ben leaned forward to speak into his ear. “Come on, bro, don’t do this,” he begged. “Talk about her music or something. Act like a person.”

Klaus clapped his hands together. “So!” he said brightly. “When’s your next concert? You need to give us some heads-up, because I have to plan a really killer outfit.”

“It’s not… It isn’t like that!” Vanya reassured Diego. “He’s just… Freddie’s, I think, in his sixties?”

“So what?” he asked in a harsh tone. “He hits retirement age and his dick falls off?”

Ben’s scooted back in revulsion. “Was that really necessary?!”

“…I was thinking of something with sequins…”

Vanya was flushed and stammering, tripping over her words. “I… Diego, he’s not… We don’t… He’s _married_.”

He snorted and shook his head. “You’re too trusting.”

“You’re too paranoid!” Ben countered.

“Whenever he gives me rides, he just talks about his grandkids…”

Diego snorted again. “People will talk about anything to build your trust.”

“…and his model trains… He, um. He’s really into model trains.”

“Hitler was really into art.”

Oh, Jesus. He was bringing out his most advanced debating techniques tonight, wasn’t he?

“He… he does a big train display in his front yard every Christmas. He hands out hot chocolate.”

Diego twisted his head around in horror. “You’ve been to his _house?_ ” he demanded, scandalized.

“The man is literally Mr. Rogers,” groaned Ben. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, dude.”

Klaus had to agree. He understood that the more Vanya pulled away, the more Diego felt obliged to double down on his over-protective shtick, but his insistence that Freddie-the-violist was some kind of geriatric playboy working a long con to seduce much younger women in his clapped-out Honda was a bit ridiculous.

Vanya apparently thought so, too. Her mouth puckered into a tight little frown, and with unusual firmness, she said, “Diego, it’s fine. I’m not a child, and I’m not stupid.”’

“Great! Do whatever you want, then!” he spat. “Get a ride from him next time, see if I care.”

“I’m starting to wish I had,” she snapped.

Klaus glanced over his shoulder in surprise. What the hell medication had Vanya been taking all those years, anti-sass pills?

Diego clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed. His shoulders tensed until he was practically vibrating in the driver’s seat.

He looked angry enough to punch out his own window, but Klaus had been spending enough time with him lately to know better.

Diego was so, so hurt by Vanya’s apathy towards the rest of the family. He viewed it as a personal failure on his part that she was reluctant to come back into the fold, because _everything_ felt personal to Diego.

Under all that leather, the guy had about as much edge as a spoon.

He glanced around the car. Diego’s face was set tight and stubborn, and Vanya was biting her lip as if worried she’d gone too far. Ben cocked an eyebrow at him, silently asking how he planned on fixing this.

Step one: Lighten the mood.

Klaus leaned forward and hit the stereo on with a squeaked “Boop!”

‘— _touched for the very first time! Like a vir-gin! When your heart beats, next to mine_!’

He allowed Diego to turn it off, then immediately reached over and flipped it back on again.

“You know, you might be the family musician, but I think Diego has the best taste out of all of us,” he called to Vanya. “He listens exclusively to bops.”

“This isn’t mine!”

“Aw, just embrace your inner pop diva, Diego!”

He turned the stereo back off, glaring daggers at Klaus, who picked up singing where the song had left off.

That was step two in his master plan: Start a karaoke session. He didn’t have any more steps planned after that, but he figured he’d just wing it.

“Stop,” Diego warned.

_“My fear is fading fast!”_

“Stop!”

_“Been saving it all for you!”_

_“Cause only love can last!”_ Ben joined in.

“Jesus fucking—! If I turn it back on, will you stop singing?”

“Deal!” Klaus agreed, although Ben kept going.

He briefly considered trying to make him corporeal, but decided against it. Even though he had a nice voice, he would have been too shy to sing in front of anyone other than Klaus, and he looked like he was having fun back there.

Vanya just looked entertained. Her mouth was quirked into a little half-smile, and Klaus didn’t miss the softness in her eyes as she studied the back of Diego’s flushed neck.

_Don’t be mad at him_ , he pleaded mentally. _He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s neurotic because he cares._

They pulled up in front of Vanya’s apartment, and she gathered up her things.

“Thanks again for the ride.”

She hesitated, and then surprised everyone, possibly including herself, by leaning forward and wrapping her right arm around Diego’s chest in an ungainly hug.

“Uh.” He patted her shoulder, looking vaguely alarmed. “No problem.”

When she pulled away, he grabbed her wrist and turned around to face her.

“Look, I…” His jaw clenched. “Call the house if you need a ride again. I don’t mind. Luther’s never got anything going on. Five might be getting his license soon—“

“Wait, what?”

“He’s petitioning the DMV for it,” Klaus filled her in. “Since he’s technically way older than thirteen, he’s trying to force them to let him take the test. It’s turned into this whole big thing—you should come over and watch him make phone calls sometime.”

“It’s better than TV,” agreed Ben.

“Oh, wow,” Vanya murmured before she was distracted by Diego squeezing at her wrist.

“Just, call, alright?” He gave her an intense look as he released her. “Don’t take any more rides from what’s-his-name. I don’t trust that guy.”

“His name is Freddie, and you have literally never spoken to him,” said Ben.

“I...” Vanya pressed her tongue to her top lip for a second. She was not a damsel in distress, but Diego still wanted to be her hero.

_Just let him have this_ , Klaus wished. _Let him know you don’t hate him._

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll call one of you guys. Thanks.”

She opened the door. “I’ll see you all on the 4th.”

Diego grunted in approval.

_Sister DO love me. Me happy. Me go home and write emotional entry in caveman journal._

Klaus gasped as Vanya ran through the rain towards her building. “Oh my God! What if those Neanderthal cave paintings were somebody’s diary?”

Diego gave him a funny look. “What if you stopped talking nonsense for a few hours?”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” He turned in the seat. “Ben! Thoughts?”

“Express yourself!” Ben exclaimed as they merged back into traffic.

Klaus beamed at him. “Thank you! I will!”

“No, that wasn’t a suggestion—is ‘Express Yourself’ on this tape? What you were saying was sort of dumb, dude.”

Klaus turned to Diego. “Do you mind if I turn this off? Ben wants to listen to sports radio.”

“Klaus!”

{}{}{}{}{}

_Klaus_

_My baby, my baby, where is my—_

_Klaus!_

_Killed me over fifty fucking dollars—_

_WAKE UP, BOY_

Klaus shot up in the bed, sweating and gasping for breath. Only one of the ghosts had the strength to reach him while he was awake, but it was the worst one—a stringy-haired woman with hate in her eyes and a gaping, bloody maw where her mouth should have been.

She let out a wet, gurgling shriek when she saw that he was looking at her, rendered unintelligible by whatever gruesome fate had befallen her face.

Klaus pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and let out a whimper.

“Shh, it’s okay, Klaus, you’re okay,” Ben murmured into his ear. “She can’t touch you. She can’t hurt you. Don’t be scared.”

He _was_ scared. He was _always_ scared. On some level, he knew there was no real logic behind it, but his fear of the ghosts had reached the point of a phobia years ago.

He saw them and thought back to those long nights in the mausoleum, cold stone against his back, and the scent of mildew in the air, and this was the time Dad was going to leave him in there for good and nonononono—

“Breathe, Klaus,” Ben said in soothing tones. “Deeeeep breaths. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“I—I need to make you real,” Klaus gasped out. “I need—just—“

“Not right now,” Ben said fast. “Not with…”

He didn’t need to finish that thought. Once, Klaus had turned him corporeal while another ghost was in the room, an angry ghost. He’d only wanted to feel his brother’s arms around him, but that other ghost had turned solid right along with Ben, and… Well. That night had gone from bad to worse.

He peeked out through his fingers. The stringy-haired woman bared her remaining teeth.

He flew off the bed, tripping through the door and down the hallway.

“Wait, where are you going?” Ben was hurrying along beside him, face pinched in concern. “What are you going to do? Klaus!”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He didn’t have any particular plan in mind, his feet were moving of their own accord and he just had to get out of there.

He wasn’t going to get high.

Maybe he was going to get high.

Shit, he’d cut off his right arm for some dope right now, and if he went for a walk and ran into somebody he knew and they offered—

He almost collided with Diego at the front door. His brother was wearing his leather crime-fighting outfit and looked exhausted, but his expression turned worried as he took in Klaus’s wild-eyed panic.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Both of his hands were on Klaus’s shoulders to stop him from charging into him, and the warm, solid weight felt good. Klaus longed to take that final step and melt into his arms.

He couldn’t do that. If Diego rebuffed him just then, he would shatter into a million pieces.

“I…” He swallowed, and his throat felt like sandpaper. “I was going to get cigarettes.”

Diego studied him with an unreadable look.

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Nicotine addiction never rests.”

“You’re barefoot.”

“My snowboots are right there by the door. See?”

Diego glanced over to where he was pointing, and took a step back. Klaus could have cried at the loss of human hands on his skin.

“I’ll drive you to the store.”

Diego turned the Cher cassette on at a low volume, and neither of them spoke during the drive. Ben wasn’t accompanying them—he had probably stayed behind to try to shoo the other ghost away, Klaus thought.

He did stuff like that. Sometimes, it even worked.

They pulled up to the corner store, and Klaus stared dully out the window at the flashing ‘OPEN 24 HOURS’ sign.

“I… don’t have my wallet,” he admitted.

Diego put the car in park and turned to him.

“You were going to get drugs.”

There was no anger or accusation in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact.

Klaus shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You were going to get drugs, without any money on you.” He paused, then added with a slight tremor, “Klaus, I don’t—I would _give_ you cash to get some heroin, if it meant you wouldn’t… do other stuff. To, uh. To get it.”

Klaus glanced at him with some surprise. “I wasn’t planning on going a-hoing. Even I couldn’t have blown through our inheritance _that_ fast.”

Diego flinched at the words, and he felt a little guilty. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.

“I… I just hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He tried to smile, and rapped his knuckles against his temple. “The cuckoo bird that lives up here is asleep. It’s late, you know.”

Diego reached out and grabbed his hand to pull it away from his head, and Klaus squeezed tight. Diego let him.

“Did something…” He stopped, and set his jaw mulishly. “What happened, Klaus?”

He let out a long sigh and leaned back into his seat without letting go of Diego’s hand. “Oh, the usual,” he said, in a tone that he forced to be flippant.

“Pissy ghosts making unreasonable demands outside of normal business hours. I _told_ them I wasn’t accepting any more quests for vengeance until after the holiday, but do they care about my weekend plans? No. _Rude._ ”

Diego studied him for a second. “I thought…  I thought that was getting better,” he said cautiously.

Klaus laughed, and it sounded unhinged even to his own ears. “Diego dearest, when will you stop doubting my ability to fuck things up? It _is_ better, but I was trying to conjure Dave this afternoon, and abra cadabra! I conjured a whole horde of not-Daves!”

He beamed at him, too-big and too-bright. “Classic me!”

Diego scowled, but Klaus could see the concern beneath it. “You just need practice.”

“Sure do!” Klaus agreed. “It’s hard to practice finding Dave when it seems that Dave doesn’t want to be found, though, hm? _There’s_ a catch-22 for you.”

He released a dramatic sigh. “Ah, but can we blame him? _I’d_ be pretty over me by now, if I was him.”

Diego’s face suddenly relaxed, like he was back on familiar ground once more.

“Well, that’s just stupid,” he said with easy confidence. “Dave isn’t hiding from you. He loves you.”

For possibly the first time in his life, Klaus found himself at a loss for words. Diego, who subscribed ulterior motives to strangers who mumbled “Good morning” as they walked by, really thought that? He sounded so _sure._

“And, uh. We all… I mean, I can only speak for…” Diego glared at the gearshift like it had insulted him. “Dave isn’t the only person. Who… feels that way. You know.”

Aaaand there he was. His charming, eloquent brother, back at it again with the smooth-talking.

A small laugh bubbled out of Klaus’s mouth on a sudden wave of affection. He squeezed Diego’s hand.

“Yeah. I know.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. It was bizarrely peaceful, just the hum of the engine and the soft strains of ‘Walking in Memphis.’ The warmth blooming from where their fingers intertwined.

“You know,” Klaus said as he was struck by a thought, “to anybody walking by, we must look like we’re on the most romantic date ever.”

Diego blinked a few times in rapid succession, then frowned at him.

“Yeah! We’re sitting in a car talking about feelings at one a.m., we’re holding hands—“

Diego quickly snatched his away and wiped it on the leg of his pants, as though to disinfect it from cooties.

“—Cher is playing—“

“Why are you like this?” Diego grumbled.

“—you’re wearing bondage gear—“

“Oh, for the last time, it’s _tactical!_ ” he burst out. “I’m not some kind of per— You know what? We’re done here.”

He threw Klaus a venomous look as he put the car back into drive.

“I hope you didn’t actually need cigarettes, because we’re going home.”

“Aw, no! Let’s go to a diner to eat waffles and gossip. Here, I’ll start—I think Luther has been writing poems.”

“Shut up,” Diego snapped.

Then, gruffly, “We have waffles at the house.”

“Not the same,” Klaus complained while he put on his seatbelt.

“Learn to drive, then. Get yourself shitty food at any diner in the city.”

Klaus hummed and rested his head against the back of the seat, smiling a little as his eyes drifted shut.

“No thanks,” he murmured in contentment. “I like this just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is so loooong but I couldn't find anything to cut out. Diego and Klaus deserve a long story to be dumbasses together, anyway.
> 
> Also, the idea of Five trying to get his documents in order to prove that he's an adult is hilarious to me for some reason. Physically thirteen, mentally fifty eight, legally thirty... I'm imagining some poor bureaucrat at the Social Security Office getting their mail and thinking 'Oh my fucking God, this guy again?'


End file.
